Backstreet Coffee Shops
by Rubies and Diamonds
Summary: "You said anything donated is greatly appreciated. I'm donating my number."


**A/N: **What? I wrote something that _isn't_ Harry Potter? This is completely out of my comfort zone okay, so don't hate me too much. I just really love these two dorks. And music!aus are my one weakness.

**Disclaimer: **A one Andrew Hussie owns aforementioned dorks. And makes me sad via aforementioned dorks.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are resisting the urge to jump up and punch the air like they do in the shitty chick flicks when the lead scores a date or whatever.

(Let it be said you aren't good at resisting things. And are prone to doing the first thing that comes into you head.)

(In other words, you totally jumped up and punched the air like they do in those shitty chick flicks.)

But your reasoning was totally legit, and it was some grade A irony either way. Ironically jumping and punching the air? So out there.

And your totally legit reasoning was as follows: you have finally landed yourself a gig. Turns out not many labels are looking for a guy fresh out of school armed with nothing but his guitar. Go figure.

The place offering said job wasn't much – a backstreet coffee shop with caramel coloured walls and dim lighting – but you aren't picky. They're paying, and your rent's due.

* * *

It's seven, and you are totally on this. Guitar's tuned, lyrics memorized, and you are going to rock these simple patrons' worlds.

You spoke with the girl who owns the joint who introduced herself as Jade a while ago – a dark haired, bucktoothed and glasses glad chick who's entirely adorable – and the only thing she requested of you was no heavy metal. Apparently the last person they hired for their live entertainment was into that, and the hipsters that frequent this place left due to their 'refined' music tastes getting upset by the change in sound.

You accept, not because you don't really like that style – whatever your sister may say, there is no way you are a goddamn hipster – but simply because your voice doesn't do the whole scream thing. At least, you think it doesn't. You've never tried.

She thanks you and leaves.

Your eyes scan the shop as you sit yourself down on the stool set out for you, and adjust the microphone so it's the right height for you. You can't really help the fact that you're lanky as fuck.

You're about to start when you catch the eye of one of the hottest fucking guys you have ever had the pleasure to eyefuck.

He's not hot as in the whole Ryan Gosling type hot – the complete opposite, really. He's _tiny, _for starters – the coat hanger he's standing next to (and the one you hit your head on when walking) in is taller than him. You think he could probably be related to the Jade girl – he also sports the dark hair, buckteeth and glasses look. The only difference is while her eyes are an almost frightening green, his are cloudless sky blue.

You wonder if there is such thing as love at first sight (completely ironically, of course).

You should probably also mention that your sexual preference is something you like to keep hidden (you aren't to sure how well you keep it hidden, but as far as you know only Rose and Bro know – minus the few guys you've been with, of course). Contemplating falling in love after one look at a cute guy is probably not the best way to keep that hidden, you think.

With newfound vigor, you clear your throat and introduce yourself to the few customers currently seated on the leather seats sipping from large and decorative mugs.

"Hey everyone, name's Dave Strider," you say, making sure to let your southern drawl lilt your voice slightly. You get a far better response when you use that tone of voice, you find. "I'm gonna be here for a while, play ya'll some ditties. Feel free to donate yer spare change to a worthy cause –" you nod to your open guitar case, "hell, not even change. Anythin', I guess. It's all greatly appreciated." You smirk slightly, readjust your shades, and start playing.

You're grateful for the silence that ensues while you perform. You're only playing a few of the songs you could play with your eyes closed – no sense in wasting the real good material on a first night, right? – so it isn't as nerve wracking as it would be to play a song you don't fully know. The whole time you try to catch the blue eyed boy's eye again (as best you can in shades, that is). You aren't as successful as you hoped you would be.

You get a good overall reaction from the crowd, and are pleased to find a sizeable amount of change scattered across the plum velvet of your guitar case. Jade comes over as you are collecting it all up, and asks if you'd come back and maybe make this a regular thing. You flash her a quick smile and tell her that if the tips are always this good, then she'll have a hard time getting rid of you. Her returning grin is wide.

You're about done collecting the crumpled dollar bills and silver coins when blue eyes approaches you, and drops a torn shred of paper into the case before you. You turn to him, and raise a pale eyebrow, visible just over the tops of your shades.

"You said anything donated is greatly appreciated. I'm donating my number," he says as means of explaination, before giving you a smug sort of smile, just a hint of teeth showing. He turns and leaves before you can say anything (you're slightly grateful for that. You don't think you'd be able to reply even if you wanted to).

You grab the note, stuff it in your pocket and finish packing up your things. You salute Jade on your way out, and once you are, you waste no time in ripping the note from your pocket and reading it, memorising the messy sprawl of digits and letters, written in bright blue ink.

_07684345327_

_I'm John, by the way._

You can't really help the smile that plays on your lips for the rest of the night.

* * *

**A/N: **I TRIED OKAY.

- Ruby


End file.
